The Sleeping Prince - Melinda Salisbury Page 0,118
of my own son to give me the strength to make my golems. And if you don’t shut your mouth and kneel to me, I will eat your mother’s heart, and then your brother’s heart. I will find everyone you’ve ever known: your childhood best friend, your first sweetheart, everyone who was ever kind to you. And I will rip their hearts from their chests and eat them while you watch.”
He smiles viciously. “And I will make Silas create Elixir until he’s nothing but rot. I will have him make it, and I will pour it from the window in front of you both, and then I will make him do it again. The more you defy me, the worse it will be for everyone.”
“Why do I matter to you?” I say, my voice breaking.
“You don’t.”
“Then why are you doing this?”
“Because I can. Because I slept for five hundred years and now I want some sport.” He lets go of my arms and looks at me expectantly. “So make your choice.”
I don’t look at the screen Twylla is hiding behind.
I kneel.
“Dance with me.”
It’s the stuff of dreams, to stand in the arms of a handsome prince while he smiles down at you. His hand cups my cheek, his thumb moving lightly across the bone as we dance. There’s no music, but we don’t need it; this ball is just for us two, intimate and full of promises. He’s happy; I can see the light of it in his eyes, the way his gaze rests on mine before it lowers, flickering down to my lips and then back up. His body asks a question now; his fingers press lightly into my flesh when he draws my face to his.
When there’s no more space between us I lower my eyelids. Then I stab him in the throat with the knife I stole from my breakfast tray this morning. It’s blunt, but I put all of my body into the strike.
He staggers back, his eyes wide, and I curl my hands into claws, watching blood cascade down over his blue velvet collar, staining his shirt.
He pulls the knife out of his neck and plunges it into my stomach. I crumple to the floor as pain explodes across my body.
No. No.
Blood spills over my hands as I hold the hilt, instinct telling me to tear the knife out of my abdomen, to get rid of the thing that’s making my vision blacken at the edges. I’ll die if I pull it out. Maybe it’s better that way.
I test the handle, and then his hand is wrapped around my jaw, forcing my head back and my mouth open as he pours liquid into it. He clamps my jaw shut. “Swallow,” he hisses and I do, screaming when he pulls the knife roughly out of me.
By the time I look down the blood has stopped, the wound is closing, I can see it through the tear in my red velvet dress. I slump to the ground, lying on the floor of the ballroom in a puddle of our mingled blood. He lowers himself to the ground next to me.
“This has to stop,” he says finally, close as a lover. “Why do you keep doing this? I’ve given you everything; you live in a castle, for crying out loud. I’m retrieving your mother; I reunited you with your brother. I feed and clothe you. I ask for nothing from you, save your company. What do you want from me? Because frankly, Errin, this is getting boring.”
“I want you to leave me alone.”
“Ahhh, but I’m fond of you.” He smiles at me.
“Because I hate you.”
“You don’t.” He speaks softly, his voice a caress. “You can’t. Look at me, Errin. What do you see?”
I look away and then his fingers are on my chin, forcing my head around. I look at him. His golden, hawk-like eyes, his silver-white hair. His handsome, hateful face.
“You’ll despise me for ever because I wear his face,” he says. “And as much as you hate me, you can’t help but want me a little, because I look like him. Same eyes, same hair. Same smile.” His lips spread into a grin – that grin – and I know he’s beaten me again. “It kills you. Every time. And that’s why I can’t let you go. So you will learn to control yourself, or I will deal with it, my way.” His expression deadens, becoming as guileless as any predator’s and my stomach lurches again.